The Cure for Heartburn
by cactusnell
Summary: Sherlock is back but Molly is engaged. Maybe Moriarty really did succeed in burning out his heart.


Sherlock Holmes and his brother Mycroft sat in a safehouse provided by the latter to allow his younger brother to recover from injuries sustained during his two year campaign to rid the world of Moriarty's criminal network. They sat facing each other, slowly sipping an excellent scotch, which Mycroft had also provided. None of Sherlock's injuries were in and of themselves life threatening, but the sheer accumulation of physical damage had taken a severe toll on the detective. He was even thinner and paler than usual, but Mycroft noted with relief that some color and weight was returning. The safehouse in question had been chosen by Mycroft because if close to St Bart's, and he know that this would give some small measure of comfort to his brother during his recuperation. Mycroft's physicians had suggested that Sherlock spend at least three weeks at the safehouse. He knew instinctively that his little brother would object, and attempt to negotiate, but he also knew that Sherlock needed the rest. So the estimate was doubled, and when Sherlock at last agreed to the three week option, Mycroft lips twitched in a small indication of satisfaction.

"You seemed to have failed miserably," Sherlock addressed his brother in a mildly accusing tone.

"I have no idea to what you refer. I promised to keep your friends safe, and I did."

"Not entirely, Mycroft. Molly is in the clutches of some definitely inferior, mildly stupid, and frustratingly normal example of what passes for a suitor in this city!"

"I'm sure you are more that capable of dealing with the situation." Mycroft took a small sip on the excellent whiskey.

"I shouldn't have to deal with the situation!"

"Listen to me carefully, Sherlock. Jim Moriarty threatened to burn out your heart. We both understand what that means, even if he didn't. I have kept her safe. I have protected her. Perhaps if you hadn't been so closed off, maybe your "heart" would have had an inkling of her importance to you, and wouldn't now be canoodling with a mid-level banker named Tom."

Sherlock winced, but could not reply. Mycroft was correct, even if he hated to admit it. He had known for ages that Molly had loved him. Hell, it seems that virtually everyone knew! He should have said something. A kind word or gesture would't have hurt him, not nearly as much as the look of pain that shadowed her lovely face at some of his more callous remarks. But by the time he realized how much she meant to him Moriarty was in the middle of his campaign to destroy him. The evil bastard already had far too many attachments to use against him. No use with providing him with another. He had told her that she counted, she had always counted, but stopped short of telling her how much she truly counted. If he was to come out of the situation with Moriarty he would need Molly's assistance, but Moriarty, and his surviving minions, must never know about her, as they surely would if he were to suddenly show up alive. They would, of course, find the coroner named on the phoney post-mortem report and death certificate and immediately put two and two together. Sherlock had spent two years demolishing this evil network, only to come home and find his Molly engaged.

Mycroft interrupted his thoughts. "Perhaps she's happy?"

"We'll see."

"Well, you had better do something quickly," the word practically dripped off Mycroft's tongue, "Mummy is expecting grandchildren, you know, and I don't believe they'll be coming from this branch of the family tree."

"No rush, Mycroft."

"You have heard of the biological clock, brother dear. I hate to appear indelicate, but neither of you is getting any younger." He rose to take he leave. "I would hate to see your children pushing your wheelchair to their after school activities!" He just made it out the door as Sherlock's empty whiskey glass shattered of the wall nearby.

Sherlock walked to the window and took up his position, binoculars in hand, waiting for Molly to leave St Bart's, and hoping that Tom wouldn't be with her. He had two more weeks in isolation, but that didn't mean his campaign shouldn't start now.

John Watson had physician's priviledges at St. Bart's and often had coffee with Dr. Molly Hooper. Their conversations were very seldom medical in nature, but centered on their mutual loss. John knew that Molly had cared very deeply for his best friend, and Molly knew that his loss had affected John greatly. Offering him a companion to talk to and a shoulder to cry on did little to assuage the guilt of keeping such a great secret from a dear friend. John had begun to accept the loss, and was moving on. He had a lovely girlfriend, Mary, who made him smile much more than he had previously. He had encouraged Molly to get on with her life, and approved of Tom. He couldn't quite figure out how Molly had reconciled her unrequited passion for Sherlock with her seemingly angst-free relationship with her fiance. Maybe angst-free was was Molls needed.

Molly looked slightly flustered as she joined him an the hospital canteen. "Hi," she murmurred distractedly as she slid into a seat.

"What's up, then?"

"I don't suppose you sent me a surprise gift?"

"No... What's going on Molls."

"It's just that this beautiful jar of hand cream arrived unexpected in lab this morning. I always have some cream in my office. You know how dry your hands can get from the constant washing. And the chemicals. And this cream is lovely. It feels like silk on my hands, and smells like heaven. I thought it was from Tom, but he's in the dark, and seemed a little put out that someone was sending me gifts. Especially expensive gifts. He wouldn't mind if it was from you though."

"Well as much as I would like to appear so thoughtful and generous, it wasn't me. You seem to have a secret admirer," he concluded with a slight smirk.

The next gift arrived exactly one week later on a Friday. Molly accepted the box from a uniformed delivery man, and opened the package with trepidation. Inside she found a sonic screwdriver. Who knew she was a closet scifi freak, with Doctor Who being her favorite? And the sonic screwdriver was the specific model used by her favorite Doctor of all time, number ten! She knew for certain now the gifts couldn't be coming from Tom. He made no secret of his disdain for her "ridiculous" scifi facination. She held the plastic toy in her hands, pushing a button and listening to the whirring sound. Even better than the hand cream!

The following Friday Molly was fighting a cold. It was not enough to cause her to stay home from work, but enough to make her workday unpleasant. Another package arrived just before noon. When she opened it she found an exquisite Chinese porceline teapot with two matching cups. Each of the items contained packets of Chinese medicinal tea, an herbal remedy for cold symptoms. She began to look uncomforably around the lab. Who knew she had a cold? Was she being stalked? It was a lovely and considerate gift, but was making her feel uncomfortable. Maybe she should talk to Greg Lestrade.

Molly did, indeed, talk to Greg and he had tried to assure her that there was no problem. None of the gifts were of a threatening nature. They had arrived at her place of employment, never her home. She felt much better. She called John to tell him about her conversation with Greg and immediately caught the nervousness in his voice. He explained that he was going to a very expensive restaurant, with a very beautiful woman, who he planned to ask a very important question. She was overjoyed, and reassured him multiple time that of course her answer would be yes. She was very happy that John would have somebody by his side when he faced the shock of Sherlock's return, but she was not so sure that she would be forgiven so easily.

Molly went home to face Tom with the news of another unexpected gift. He had not been dealing very well. Sometimes she got the impression that he didnt believe her about the source of the gifts. He seemed overly suspicious, jealous. His lack of trust surprised her. Little chinks in his armor of normality were beginning to appear. Molly had always known that she didn't care for him as she had cared for her detective, but he reminded her of Sherlock so much, physically, that she was able to somewhat ignore the other qualities he was lacking.

On Monday Sherlock stood in the shadows of the hospital locker room, waiting for the sound of Molly's approach. When she arived at her locker he moved to stand beside her, so that his reflection would appear on the mirror on her open locker door. He noted her look of surprise just before she turned to face him, but after that all he could see was the offending ring on her finger.

His reunion with John was not gone as well as he had expected. Had not gone well at all, and he had the bruises to prove it. He had wanted to go to Molly over the intervening weekend, but decided that's if John's reaction was any indication, perhaps we was not ready to face Molly yet. I was a purely selfish reaction, but he went back to the safehouse and sulked. Now it was Monday, and he was ready to face Molly's disappointment at not hearing from him in two years. Mycroft had been under orders to report every aspect of her life to Sherlock, but she had been privy to little more than the occasional assurance that he was still alive.

Noticing the cut on his lip and bruise under his eye, Molly stated what was, to her, obvious, " I can see you've been to see John. I can also see how that went." At the look of desolation on his face, she added, "Don't worry, he'll come around." She leaned into him and stood with her head on his chest, but he didn't make a move. She withdrew silently.

"I have some more people to see. Hopefully I'll be able to escape without further injury!" And with that he was moving away, shouting, "I'll be in touch!" as he reached the door.

Wednesday Molly received a text message from the detective.

BAKER STREET. NOW. - SH

She let out an exasperated sigh as her mobile pinged again.

PLEASE – SH

They spent the day together, she acting in John's stead. Obviously the rift had yet to be healed. Late in the afternoon, he had asked he if she would like to go for some chips, and she in return felt compelled to asked him what this day was really about. He finally acknowledged her engagement ring, and made what seemed like a sad little speech about how she mattered, about how in threatening those who mattered to him, Moriarty had, in fact, missed the one who mattered most. He wished her happiness, kissed her on the cheek, and walked away. Molly watched him go, willing herself not to follow. There were definitely some things she had to take care of, she thought, twisting the ring on her left hand.

As if sensing her eyes on her back and reading her thoughts, Sherlock allowed himself a half smile and a bit of hope.

On Friday, another package arrived. This time the gift was beautifully packaged. She opened a lovely case covered with a bright floral material. Inside she found six delicately crafted hair clasps, each more lovely than the next. The looked like gold, silver, rose gold – she couldn't really tell if they were real, but they were beautiful. Some had what seemed to be semi-precious stones in them. It all seemed a bit too extravagant. But the note that came with them was even more disturbing.

_One for each day of the week, except for Sunday, of course, when you like to wear_

_your hair down. They suit you better than the elastic bands, they won't damage your_

_lovely hair, and they'll be much easier for me to remove._

Molly gasped at the implied intimacy of the note. Not for the first time she felt as if she was being stalked. She needed to talk to John, but she hadn't heard from him in days. She was contemplating calling Greg again, when the lab door opened when in walked Sherlock, followed by John Watson!

She heaved a sigh of relief. But then looked at John with a sadly inquisitive look, he shrugged his shoulders and gave her long hug. "It's alright, Molls. If I can forgive him, I can forgive you." Her gratitude and relief were palpable.

The three sat in her office and discussed the her problem.

"Have you talked about the situation with Tim?" Sherlock inquired.

"Tom," Molly and John corrected him in unison.

"Yes, I have," Molly continued, "And I have a felling he's not going to like this. This gift and note are far more personal than anything else."

"I'm sure Todd will understand," Sherlock rose to leave, "I am also sure that there is no implied threat to you. Probably some lovestruck colleague. I'll look into it."

Sherlock was in and out of her lab several times the following week, but had nothing to report on her predicament, being occupied with far more important cases. He did notice, however, that her left hand was now sans ring.

"It didn't work out," Molly responded to his smug inquiry. "He really became more and more suspicious of these damned gifts. He kept implying that I was encouraging them in some way. That I was part of a conspiracy to keep something from him. That note was the last straw. He kept staring a my hair all day Sunday, the day I like to wear it down. I suppose I could have convinced him that nothing was going on, but I suddenly looked at him, and he didn't seem worth the effort." Having said her piece, she sighed a sigh that didn't seem particularly sad, and then added, "Subject closed. No further discussion!" This was fine with Sherlock.

Friday, another package arrived. A small package containing a very very old Egyptian amulet, an image of the goddess Bast, symbolized by a cat. The enclosed note read:

_I know how much you love cats. This one is very old. I hope you like it._

"It's very beautiful," Molly murmurred.

"If it's real it must be very valuable," John added.

"Oh, it's real," Sherlock said, looking up from the microscope.

"How do you know?"

"Oh, you can tell just by looking at," Sherlock responded, going back to his microscope. "Your admirer if obviously totally besotted with you!"

Another week passed, another gift arrived. This time Molly was alone in the lab as she unwrapped a package containing a DVD with all kinds of warning messages on it. It was a pre-release edition of the most anticipated horror/scifi film of the year, "Apocalypse Z". Zombies! My god, she loved most scifi, but especially zombies, not surprising giving her choice of occupation. But the warning labels! She must be in violation of every copyright law in the book! A postit note on the case merely read,

SOMETHING NEW!

She hated to bother John and Sherlock with this new addition to her inventory. Sherlock obviously felt there was no implied threat involved. Beside, she couldn't wait to settle down on her couch with some wine, some popcorn, and a zombie or two.

Molly had finally told Sherlock about the anonymous gift, and the following Friday she was not surprised to find them both in the lab with her. But the day passed uneventfully, John appearing occasionally, as his medical duties allowed. Sherlock spent most of the day fiddling around in drawers and cabinets, or with his nose in a microscope. Molly sat next to him at a lab table, working on her laptop and taking notes. It was getting late in the day, and it soon appeared obvious that nothing was going to happen. She didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. She reached down to find that her pen was missing.

"What are you fidgeting about?" Sherlock inquired.

"I seem to have misplaced my pen." She rose to go in search of another. Molly could never seem to hold on to a writing instrument.

"Here, you can borow mine."

"No, I shouldn't", she said, looking at the lovely silver pen, engraved with his initials. It had been a gift from his grandmother, and he usually carried it in his inside coat pocket.

"Don't be ridiculous, it's almost time to leave. You'll be late if you have to go in search of another."

She acquiesced, took the pen, and went back to her work. Sherlock rose from his microscope, and Molly assumed he was going to pull some new organ from the fridge, but was disappointed to realize that he had left the lab without even saying good-bye. Perhaps she been too engrossed in her notetaking. It was then that she realized that she still had his pen. It had been kind of him not to demand it back, but she did not trust herself with such a valuable heirloom.

YOU BORROWED MY PEN – SH

SORRY. I'LL RETURN IT TONIGHT – MH

THANK YOU – SH

Molly left the building and hopped into cab, giving the driver the address on Baker Street. She started to review the gifts in her mind, in the order of their appearance.

First, the hand cream. Thoughtful, elegant, expensive. Obviously from someone who knew what working in a lab could do to your skin.

Next, Doctor Who's sonic screwdriver. Not expensive, but personal, with a touch of humor.

Then came the lovely teapot, with the herbal remedy. Whoever it was certainly knew she was sick.

And the teaset was beautiful (and probably expensive, too!).

Then came the one that broke poor Tom's back, the beautifully crafted hair clasps. The too personal, almost intimate note, had been his undoing.

The Egyptian amulet had been a complete surprise. She had always had a cat. She loved cats. And this cat was made more beautiful by the fact that it had survived all these centuries. It was so OLD!

Finally, the zombie movie. A complete surprise. Obviously from someone who knew her well, who knew her secret vices. The newest scifi move be be released. Beyond NEW. Pre-new. Newer that new.

She was climbing the steps to Sherlock's flat, when a thought starting forming in the back of her mind. Certain phrases that she had connected to the last couple of gifts. Something old. Something new. She stopped short on the staircase as the next phrase of old rhyme popped into her head. Something borrowed! She continued her climb, fingering the silver pen in the pocket of her coat.

Sherlock opened his door at her approach, but she stood dumbly on his doorstep. For a moment he studied her face, then smiled tentatively. He lead her into his study, very gently. He didn't want her to take off. He wasn't quite sure of her reaction, but decided to go for broke.

"I really don't want wait another week," removing a small blue box from his pocket. He opened it to reveal a beautiful, and very large, sapphire ring, with smaller diamonds on either side.

"Something blue. I hope you like it better than Tad's?".

Molly wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, so he took her in his arms and let her do both.

Mycroft Holmes glanced down at the incoming text message.

BIOLOGICAL CLOCK SORTED OUT BUT WE WILL NOT NAME OUR FIRSTBORN MYCROFT – SH

ESPECIALLY IF IT'S A GIRL – MH

Mycroft mused about how convenient it was that her monogram wouldn't change, as he returned to his quiet musings at the Diogenes Club. Mummy will be so happy.


End file.
